Losing Her
by SpecialAgentZiva
Summary: He reaches into his pocket and dials the familiar number - 911! - and allows himself to scream "Agent down! Agent down! We need an ambulance! Agent down!" before he realizes that the men are still standing. And all three are staring at him.


**A/N: This is an idea I've been playing with for a while. The idea that he cannot save them all. But either way, this made me sad. :( So warning. Anyway, I don't have much to say, so please enjoy. I don't own NCIS. At all.**

"Nice of you to join us."

It's the first time she's heard this voice in… days? Weeks? No matter how hard she tries, she cannot remember. But she can easily place this voice, give a name to it. Her eyes are shut but she can still see that face. Is he really here? Is this really him? Or… had it all been reality? Had she really lost him?

"Mmm… Tny?" she asks, her words slurred. She tries to open her eyes, and though her eyelids feel a thousand pounds each, she manages to crack them open. The light that floods in is too much and they are quickly shut again. "Tny?" she asks again.

There is no answer this time, and she fears there never will be. A machine beeps beside her - she vaguely acknowledges it - and there are voices, other voices, speaking to her, but she does not hear them. She is still searching for his voice.

She fears she will never hear it again.

* * *

"DiNozzo, check out the warehouse," comes the order, and he is on his feet in a flash. "Bring David."

He flashes her a smile that she doesn't return, but it's no matter. They have places to be, people to shoot, criminals to capture. Still, he would never be able to cope with the stress if it wasn't for her, if it wasn't for the ability to smile despite the worst possible situations. He is still thinking of this when they step into the elevator.

It's not until they step out that he begins to feel it, a gnawing anxiety at the pit of his stomach. He pushes it away. He'd felt this the day Kate had died, the day he'd gone to Ziva's apartment, and again the day they'd found out she'd "gone down with the ship." Each time, he'd only been rewarded with bad situations. But he couldn't _not_ go, based on suspicion that his stomach told him about. Ha! Gibbs would probably pass it off as hunger.

As they drive towards their destination, he wills the feeling away, but it does not leave him. Even Ziva seems worried, but he hopes it's more because of his silence than anything. If only he feels this, the roaring dread, then maybe it's nothing. Maybe it's just over anxiety. And yet… he knows better.

They pull into a screeching stop beside the warehouse, both silently cursing the loud squeal of tires. If anyone was here, surely they'd have been alerted to the presence of two federal agents. But they do not fear - at least, she doesn't - because they are trained. They can handle this. A rush of adrenaline hits him and he's thankful for it. It momentarily drowns out the dread, and allows him to focus. His hand is on his gun and it is drawn in moments.

A small nod is shared and they part, her taking the left and him the right. They are not wearing earpieces today, but hopefully it will not matter. He allows himself a small, twisted smile. If anything goes wrong, at least they can hear each other scream.

Later he wishes he'd never even thought that.

As they round the corner to the back of the warehouse, it becomes clear that they are not alone. He can see her brown eyes stare in his direction and he nods before turning his attention back to the situation. Two men, dressed in dark suites, side-by-side. Another man, his clothing ripped and torn, his face bleeding, stares at them defiantly. There is a gun in his trembling hands, but it is nothing compared to the firepower in the hands of the other men.

This is dangerous, he knows, and now he can really put a name to the dread. He somewhat hopes that the one man will shoot and kill the other, so there are only two enemies left to deal with, but he dismisses this thought instantly. He is a protector, not a killer. He is not allowed to wish harm.

He meets her eyes again and they nod once more, both drawing their faithful weapons and rounding the corner. They are still behind the men, not in view, but they will notice in time. He clears his voice, ready to yell the familiar "Federal agents! Drop your weapons!" when the hurt man notices.

But he does not notice him. No, he sees the brown eyes and the brown hair and the gun and… and he's seeing Ziva. He does not even notice Tony. There is no chance to change anything, he realizes, because the moment he lifts his own gun, the hurt man pulls the trigger. And he watches her, the shock on her face as the bullet rips through her body.

It is all he can do to stop himself from screaming.

He reaches into his pocket and dials the familiar number - _911_! - and allows himself to scream "Agent down! Agent down! We need an ambulance! Agent down!" before he realizes that the men are still standing.

And all three are staring at him.

* * *

It will be another few days before she is fully able to open her eyes again, before she can acknowledge the world. But there is dread in her mind, a screaming anxiety that will not leave her. She sees an endless amount of people, sees the tears and hears the sad words, but nothing impacts her. The announces of worry from the tear-stained face of Abby is unimportant. Even the crushing sadness behind Gibbs's words does not hit her.

She is still waiting. Waiting for them to tell her, to speak what they are holding back. Because she knows they are not telling her something, and, by the absence of her partner's voice, she fears for him. She fears that he is dying, that he is already dead, that she will never get the chance to say good-bye.

But it becomes clear after a while. The pain is increasing, day by day, and she gets a fever that spikes without warning. She realizes what they are not telling her.

Her partner isn't the one dying.

She is.

* * *

He sits in a corner, back pressed against the cold wall, his hands over his tearstained face. He hasn't even bothered to pick a chair to sit on. He hasn't bothered to look up in so long, he has only let the tears come and go. He tries not to think about it, but it is inevitable. He knows he should visit, but he cannot.

Only a day ago did they finally tell him. He hadn't been allowed to visit her, having been detained for his own wounds, and they'd withheld something from him. He could feel it the entire time, no matter how many times they assured him that she was okay. Something was not right. And then… and then they'd had to tell him, when the doctor had slipped with his words and everything had become clear.

No matter how hard he had tried to protect her, she would not survive. She had lost a lot of blood originally - it had been a miracle that she'd survived long enough to get to the hospital - but they could not stop the infection that had quickly spread through the wound and her body. They could not stop the fever. She would die as she had lived - fighting - but it would never be enough.

It is the dead of night when he finally moves, finally lifts himself from the ground and forces himself into her room. She doesn't even look alive, and it shocks him. He'd thought he'd be prepared for this - after all, he'd survived Kate's death, how could he not survive this? But it was so different, so much worse. And even as he held onto her hands, he knew there would be no hope.

He was losing her.

And, in the process, he was losing himself as well.

So he lets himself cry over her, her impending death and her inability to respond to his tears. He wonders if she can hear him, if she even cares. And when it's all over, when she's finally gone, he cannot stop the guilt, the sorrow. He gives his resignation, and he leaves.

He leaves behind everything in hopes of finding something better, but he knows he never will.

With her death, he has lost everything.

**A/N: I'm going to have to point something out. ;) Everything in my writing is done for a reason. What you may consider a mistake is often not a mistake at all. So, to those of you wondering why I'd say Gibbs would pass a gut feeling off as hunger, remember that. The section is written in Tony's point of view, not in that of an innocent bystander. It is meant to give you a look at his insecurity and his mind. Well, there you go. Explanation. & thanks to all reviewers in advance, I appreciate you guys.**


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